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"here comes little naked me padding up to the bathroom door
to find little naked you slumped on the bathroom floor
so i guess i'll just stand here with my back against the wall
while you distill your whole life down to a 911 call"
-ani difranco

once your sang ani difranco to me
little plastic castles.
And i loved you then
inside laughter so uproarious.
but in all other situations?
maybe i didn't love you at all...

as children with concerns
parents say we have our whole lives to worry.

but how long is a whole life?
for you?
it is one week shy of 19 years.

i guess everything is timing.

once, twice, god, a handful of times
you cried in my arms.
and maybe, honestly, i wanted to be there for you
but i hated kicking down that bathroom door
to pull you out, your arms bloody.
and maybe i hated you...

all brutal honesty, all petty grievances,
all drunken dramatic moments aside
even i knew you had your whole life
even i knew you would do something great

but someone else didn't
someone let you die
he wouldn't call 911
and, Jenna, i would have...

that night, or morning
what were you doing? flying so high
so far into yourself you could never get out.
no pain, no hate, no fear, but no life, either.
no breath. and what were they doing?
letting you sit in the corner
pretending your breath would start again.

at 8am, when they called 911 you had been dead for 2 hours.

what does this even mean?
what does it mean to write a love poem to someone you haven't spoken to in 3 and 1/2 years?
a girl who is dead, a girl who is so hated and so
well known.

in my yearbook you wrote
"i want you to be my midwife one day"

the finality of that, of you...
can't be put to words.

they say the character who dies
teaches us something about ourselves
something we didn't want to know
let's us go on living
and loving
and knowing what it means to be alive.

all your user friends
are thanking you for helping them end their addiction.
all your past lovers are singing your praises...
i don't care about these lessons,
about the poetic point, the literary value
i would give it up
to have you breathe again.

someday could be today...

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The following comments are for "jenna's late love poem draft 1"
by ruina

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